


secrets between us

by oorrrt



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Fluff, High School AU, M/M, Pre-Relationship, well it's a boarding school but they're never actually there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:41:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oorrrt/pseuds/oorrrt
Summary: Last week, Dongju had discreetly picked up a blank envelope, slipped it into his cardigan sleeve.  He’d agonized over that slip of paper for six whole days, always tucking it into a different notebook or folder to keep safe.  He doesn’t room with Hwanwoong, nor are his roommates particularly nosy, but he’s afraid.  He’s afraid of lots of things; of forgetting to wear his pants to class, of ghosts, of not being enough, of letting that little vanilla envelope out of his sight.
Relationships: Son Dongju | Xion/Yeo Hwanwoong
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	secrets between us

**Author's Note:**

> you know what the kids say.. ekphrastic fanfiction

“We should be getting back,” Dongju says, checking the time on his phone.

In just a few minutes the sun will start to set; and though as upperclassmen they’re allowed to step off campus on their own, they’re expected to be back well before curfew and the buses can be irritatingly unreliable.

Dongju would give anything to stay a bit longer, though.

He and Hwanwoong are studying at their favorite café downtown. It’s a bit of a hike up an unexpectedly steep hill, and the other students tend to avoid the climb. They’ve even nabbed the best spot: a little wooden table right under the biggest window. If Dongju leans back in his chair a little, at just the right angle, all he can see is the open, unbroken sky for centuries.

Hwanwoong closes his books with a deep breath. He pulls out his phone and pretends to check something. Dongju can tell by the way his eyes train on a single spot on the thin glass surface, by his motionless hands.

Dongju knows Hwanwoong is careful, gentle, deliberate in everything he does. He's come to expect this. But today Hwanwoong hesitates, fidgets, hesitates some more, puts down his phone just to pick it up again, takes a sip of his sugary coffee concoction, stares out the window.

“This window faces west,” Hwanwoong says. He stacks his books on top of each other but still makes no moves to put any of them away.

“Sunset?”

“Sunset.”

“We’d get in trouble,” Dongju says. It’s true that the professors are more lenient with good students with good records and high marks and he and Hwanwoong are… diligent, at least. But…

“Look how perfect the clouds are,” Hwanwoong says, ignoring Dongju’s worries. His eyes are glassy, far away. Dongju has always thought Hwanwoong has interesting eyeballs, set peculiarly forward ( _ like a fish if a fish were a predator, he used to tease _ ), and in moments like these they reflect the light around them, perfect miniature projections imprinted on their glossy surface.

_ Imagine the sunset in those eyes.  _ Dongju caves to a single, cliché thought.

“Okay, let’s stay.”

A comfortable silence settles between them. The horizon-plump sun shimmers in its molasses fall as those perfect, perfect clouds drink up every golden pink hue.

Hwanwoong stares out the window quietly, snapping the occasional photo. Dongju takes this moment to look around, steal glances at Hwanwoong’s sunlit face. The café is awash in a daydream, an intensely warm glow Dongju’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to conjure in his own imagination. On his own.

But he’s not alone right now.

The pages of his book, still open beneath his fingers, seem to rustle with anticipation.

After double-checking to make absolute certain Hwanwoong isn’t paying attention to him, Dongju slips out a tiny envelope, pressed tightly underneath his book’s stiff cover.

On the café windowsill is a large jar full of envelopes that look just like his – thick, cream-colored paper, sealed with a tiny heart. Nestled within each envelope is (Dongju assumes) a heartfelt letter someone before them has left behind. Maybe someone pining, maybe people writing together to seal a memory. It’s terribly romantic, and Dongju's stomach feels warm, imagining it all.

Last week, Dongju had discreetly picked up a blank one of those envelopes, slipped it into his cardigan sleeve on their way out. He’d agonized over that slip of paper for six whole days, always tucking it into a different notebook or folder to keep safe. He doesn’t room with Hwanwoong, nor are his roommates particularly nosy, but he’s afraid. He’s afraid of lots of things; of forgetting to wear his pants to class, of ghosts, of not being enough, of letting that little vanilla envelope out of his sight.

And just yesterday, finally slapped with the pressure of actually writing something to put inside, Dongju had frantically jotted this down:

_ Dear Yeo Hwanwoong-ssi, that one time we went camping and I said my sleeping bag was torn and it was too cold to sleep and you let me share your sleeping bag with you, I was lying. Sorry~ _

Not the most romantic, but it’ll have to do.

“What’s on your mind?” Hwanwoong’s voice slices through Dongju’s thoughts.

Dongju startles. He cups his hand around the envelope, begging whoever’s out there that Hwanwoong hadn’t seen a thing.

“The sunset is pretty,” he says.

“You’re not even looking at it,” Hwanwoong points out.

“Um, didn’t you know? Sunsets look better out of your peripheral vision.”

“I’m not sure that’s how that works, Dongju.”

Dongju grimaces. “Well  _ sorry _ I barely passed bio.”

“I think optics is in the physics curriculum,” Hwanwoong chuckles. “Guess physics isn’t looking too bright for you either, huh?”

Dongju rolls his eyes, but clamps his mouth shut against a retort. Usually he’d love having the attention on him, from Hwanwoong or anyone else, but he’s a little preoccupied right now.

Hwanwoong reaches out a small hand to swipe gently through Dongju’s bangs. “You seem a little distracted,” he says, “I’m sorry if staying here worried you. We can head back now.”

Suppressing a shiver at the light touch, Dongju shakes his head. “I’m not worried. We can stay longer if you want.”

“Hey,” Hwanwoong asks, voice lilting with his teasing tone, “you’re not keeping any secrets from me, are you?”

“What would I have to hide from you?” Dongju responds, just as smoothly, just as easily.

Hwanwoong smiles his trademark sleepy smile; the one Dongju thinks would look stupid on anyone else. The light is fading into a dimmer, cooler hue, a hazy purple atmosphere dusting the table and Hwanwoong’s pointy nose.

“Let’s go back,” he says.

Still, he’s as slow as ever putting his books back into his backpack, sipping obnoxiously at the last dregs of his drink. Dongju mirrors his speed, hindered by the envelope still clutched in his left hand, definitely a little crinkled now.

Hwanwoong grabs both their empty cups. “You ready to head out?”

Dongju pretends to dig through his backpack. “You go on ahead; I think I dropped my pen. I’ll meet you outside,” he says as casually as he can manage.

As soon as Hwanwoong has his back turned, Dongju stuffs his creased envelope into the letter jar. One swift poke later it’s concealed perfectly inside, his silly confession now buried deep amongst everyone else’s words, maybe as heartfelt as he’d imagined before, or maybe all meandering, hurried nonsense just like his own. He feels something unclench in his heart, yet it won’t stop beating its buzzing, vibrant patter.

Hwanwoong is waiting outside the door. Of course he’s waiting outside the door, but as always Dongju can’t help but worry every time he’s out of his sight – it’s just like every night, before they part ways to their respective dormitories, when a tiny, irrational part of him frets that maybe, just maybe, he won’t see him tomorrow.

But every next day, like oiled clockwork, Hwanwoong is waiting outside each metaphorical door.

Dongju elbows Hwanwoong as they walk to the bus stop. “We’re gonna get in trouble,” he singsongs, coaxing out another sleepy smile.

“Was it worth it?” Hwanwoong asks, suddenly serious again.

Dongju recalls the sunset, the orange glinting off Hwanwoong’s hair. He drinks in the blue of twilight, crisp and calling towards an early winter. He thinks about that note he left in that jar, to be read maybe years into the future, maybe tomorrow, maybe never.

It would be easy to hold Hwanwoong’s hand right now, to reach out and waffle his stubby fingers. Dongju looks at his own hands, pink-knuckled in the chilly evening air.  _ Hands are built to be held, _ he thinks. He stuffs them into his pockets.

“It was worth it,” he says.


End file.
